


dress me up and watch me die

by murphysarc



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, M/M, the death is only alluded to, they are all gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 04:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13540113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphysarc/pseuds/murphysarc
Summary: […unanswered prayers of the masses fade into the background, Bellamy’s voice taking up the now silent space. Maybe that’s selfish of him, but gods have only ever been renowned for their ambivalence…]or, a gods au.title from “emperor’s new clothes” by panic! at the disco.





	dress me up and watch me die

**Author's Note:**

> hullo!
> 
> first - i totally know abby is VERY off in this. she's meant to be. i made her name more formal etc etc...this is not how she would act as a character. i want to be clear that this isn't meant to bash her character; rather, i wanted to explore a different, darker side of her. 
> 
> second - this is inspired a lil bit by [stella!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmaggiecat/pseuds/trash%20king%20murphamy). she's got a mythology au in the works as well and you should read all her stuff she's a fantastic writer and person, and her group chat au is my favourite thing to ever exist :)

**_now._ **

_He carries the weight of this world on his shoulders._

_Years have gone by, he thinks. It’s been years of this constant game; the weight forcing him down to his knees, so much so that he’s sure this will be the end. He will finally reach the day where the sky slips off his back, crashing to the ground and it will be over._

_But he knows, deep in his heart, that he will never allow this day to come if he is alive._

_So he carries the weight of this world on his shoulders, and he waits for better days, he waits for something to change – most of all, he waits for the sight of another._

_He’s been waiting a long while._

**then.**

The water is so, so blue.

It’s all Murphy thinks as he stands at the edge of the sea. Sun hits the edge of the water. The air is fresh here, breathing for him. He’s hungry for it, for the calm and serenity that comes with standing at the edge.

He could fall. The water would catch him. He’s not afraid.

“Murphy,” someone calls. “Time to set sail.”

He’s still full of joy when he answers. “Rome by morning,” he calls back, so light, so airy. “We’ll be in Rome by morning.”

Soon, he’ll turn around and board his vessel, and he’ll sail into the ocean’s embrace, the only thing he’ll ever love right.

 

**_now._ **

_Sometimes he wonders if he did it right, after all._

_The same choices that led him there, led him here, so maybe…maybe he wasn’t meant to be there at all._

_Damn, the sky is heavy. What’s up there, anyways? Just some clouds? He laughs, but it doesn’t last long._

_Humour doesn’t work too well for him, not anymore. It reminds him of weakness._

**then.**

They’re halfway to Rome when the boat tips, and half of Murphy’s crew ends up in the water.

He doesn’t see it happen right away, but while he’s trying to turn the boat the right way round and weather through the storm they’ve happened across, he hears the screams.

“Captain!” someone yells, “Man overboard! _Man overboard!_ ”

More like _men_ , Murphy thinks through gritted teeth. They’re in a storm, a bad one – he should leave them behind. That’s what other captains would do. He wouldn’t be shamed for choosing his boat over some men, he wouldn’t, but –

He loves the ocean. It will not take him.

“Mbege, take the wheel!” he yells, grabbing his first mate and shoving him to the wheel, counting on primal reflexes to take over. They do; Mbege focuses on righting the boat, as he should.

His vessel is sturdy but small. He’s never had fancy equipment to do his job for him.

“Hold on!” he yells, to himself, to his crew, to the water, and then he jumps in with nothing more than a thin prayer.

He’s torn. The water pulls him every direction, the current out of control, nothing like the tranquil blue surface from earlier. It’s dark, stormy, chaotic, and he’s wondering how he thought this would be a good idea.

But though he fights, he’s never felt more alive.

Murphy finds his bearings, somehow, and counts five crew members around him, all struggling to escape the tide. He starts with those closest to him, grabbing hold one by one, dragging them to the boat, waiting until his remaining crew grab on before heading for the next.

The boats getting farther, the waters getting colder. Onwards he swims.

His teeth are chattering by the time he gets the last crewman out of the water. “Captain!” someone on deck yells just as he’s reaching up. “There! One more!”

 _Well, why don’t you go get them_ , he thinks, but only for a second.

Breath comes short and fast, but he turns anyways, swimming back out into the depths. By the time he reaches the last struggling crewman, his limbs are so heavy that Murphy thinks he might be the one in need of rescue –

but he trusts the ocean to never let him go.

He does make it back, through blurry vision and aching bones. He makes it to the edge of the boat, but he waits for the last crewman to make it up, before allowing himself to be hauled on deck.

The wood beneath him is hard and harsh, uncomfortable against his back. He heaves, coughing up water. Chills rack his body and though he’s safe now, he wants nothing more than to go back in the water.

 

**_now._ **

_He should have let them all die._

_He should have respected the natural cycle of things, let them all perish. He should have saved himself and what crew was smart enough to grab onto something instead of sliding right off the edge._

_But if he had, who would now stop the sky from falling on his own, selfish head?_

**then.**

It takes Murphy less than a day to die.

He feels cold, then hot, then dead, then nothing at all. Not much of anything happens until he comes face to face with Emori, the goddess of death herself, wielding a spear as a staff.

“Jonathan Murphy,” she says. She’s a lot smaller than he expected.

As the legends teach him to, he bends down to his knees in respect, but she only laughs and gestures for him to get back up. “Don’t be silly,” she says. “Though, I appreciate it.”

He nods, looking around, but he sees nothing at all. “Forgive me – but this is not how I imagined the afterlife to be.”

“It is not the afterlife.”

His brows furrow. “I do not understand.”

She smiles, extending a hand, which he quickly takes. “Come with me.”

They walk no more than a few steps before the area around him changes. He finds himself in the center of a massive room, large thrones in a semicircle around one side, the rest filled up with a giant window. Through the window, he can see Earth.

Emori smiles, then leaves him to take her place on one of the thrones. As she does so, the remaining gods step out from the shadows and sit on a throne of their own. One, a smooth, light blue seat, remains empty.

“Jonathan Murphy,” one of the goddesses says, calling them all to attention. He knows enough to recognize her as Abigail Griffin. Her story remains constant through the legends – the ordinary woman who created the sun.

Once again, he kneels, and once again, he is told to rise. In his confusion, he takes a moment to gaze at each face, recognizing them all instantly –

Kane, god of the sky, Abigail’s husband and king of the gods –

Clarke, their only legitimate daughter, goddess of the seasons –

Raven, goddess of wisdom, borne from a wish –

Monty, Harper, and Jasper, domains of love, nature, and wind respectably, each one Abigail’s child born to a different mortal –

Lexa and Luna, goddesses of war and peace, both mortals chosen to ascend –

and Bellamy, god of fire, Kane’s sole son not with Abigail.

“I do not understand,” he finally says.

“You showed great merit in your life and death,” she says, “along with incredible devotion to the ocean. You have served us well.”

“Thank you.”

“As such…we would like to make you an offer.”

And then, he understands.

 

**_now._ **

_Regret plagues him during the night, in the moments where the sky is heaviest, and he is weakest._

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…_

_What is he sorry for? What, after all this time, could he still possibly have to atone for? Hasn’t he done enough?_

_Won’t he always wear the scars from this?_

**then.**

Becoming a god is nothing like he thought it would be – not that he thought this would ever be possible.

“There are rules,” Abigail had warned him. “Most importantly, you must _never_ interfere in major ways without consulting myself or Kane first.”

It hadn’t seemed like an issue.

It was the feeling that water gave him, now, as god of the oceans. He could feel it, through every bone, every muscle. No longer did he bleed red. Instead he felt purity, echoing inside himself. It felt – he felt clean.

Murphy no longer admired the water, no – he _was_ the water.

But –

the voices never stopped.

 _Grant me safe passage,_ they said. _Please help us, we’re caught in a storm. We haven’t found any fish. Our boat is breaking. Please help us, help us,_

_help me –_

He can’t…he can’t condemn any of them. Before, he’d say the same things before each voyage, praying to the gods for safe travels. There was no ‘god of oceans’, before, but now that there is he knows he must help all that he can but he doesn’t know how and they’re so _loud_ –

It’s Bellamy who stumbles across him, huddled in the corner of some room down some hallway or other. Murphy wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, but clearly, he’s not as good at hiding as he thought.

“Need some help?”

Murphy hears the condescension laced into the words, but he _does_ need help. “Yes,” he says softly. It’s now he knows his eyes are shut tight, eliminating whatever senses he can because they’re still so _loud_ –

“Focus on me, okay?”

And there’s a hand on his shoulder, holding him tight, anchoring him to shore.

“Okay,” he whispers. The hand gets tighter and Murphy stops, letting himself fall into _whatever_ is going on here, giving up control just as he did before death.

It’s never been so easy.

Unanswered prayers of the masses fade into the background, Bellamy’s voice taking up the now silent space. Maybe that’s selfish of him, but gods have only ever been renowned for their ambivalence.

“That’s better,” Bellamy says. Condescension is no longer one of Murphy’s concerns.

He can actually _think_ now, but he places a hand on Bellamy’s without reservations. “Thank you,” he says.

“Of course,” he says. “Lexa and Luna had the same problems.”

“I suppose you don’t.”

“No, I suppose that I don’t.” There’s a bitterness there, and edge that comes from being an illegitimate child, maybe, or perhaps it stems from the lack of a choice that landed him here.

“Either way,” Murphy says, “I owe you.”

Bellamy laughs, shakes his head, a fire in his eyes that should scare Murphy, but doesn’t. “Yes,” Bellamy says. “I suppose that you do.”

 

**_now._ **

_He doesn’t owe anyone anything._

_That’s how it should have been. That’s how it always should have been. He knows that, now, knows it too late._

_It’s too late._

_There’s a bitterness in his mind that he doesn’t like, but there’s no one here to take the edge off. Just a constant weight, pushing him further downwards into an already precarious spiral._

**then.**

Bellamy takes him to a coastline, somewhere along the Mediterranean. It’s empty, abandoned, left only for them. Water laps up just far enough to touch the soles of his feet. Each time he feels it, his grip on this new life grows stronger.

“What’s the point?” Murphy finally asks, staring at the sun as it sets on the horizon.

“There isn’t one,” Bellamy replies. The answer is almost too quick for such a large question. “Trust me on that. We needed someone to mediate the oceans, so here you are.”

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean – what do we do?”

“Depends on circumstance,” Bellamy says, sighing. His raven hair is the only similarity he shares with Kane. Murphy figures he must take after his mother, a poor mortal struck down by Abigail once she learned of the affair.

Of course, she’s mothered half the gods on the council, but Murphy supposes that’s besides the point.

“Circumstance?”

“Yes…listen to prayers, if you feel like that. Help those who you deem worthy of help.” He pauses, letting out another sigh. “Of course, you’ll only hear prayers once the mortals are already on the oceans, and then they’re already dead.”

Murphy laughs. “I would not say that.”

“ _You_ wouldn’t,” Bellamy says, “but some of us know better.”

It hurts, but it’s honest, and that counts for something.

“Those who take an ocean voyage are brave,” Murphy protests, thinking of the countless journeys he took with his crew. He wonders if they’re all alive, if they made it out after he perished.

“Those who take an ocean voyage _don’t know any better_ ,” Bellamy repeats, not only bitterly, but maliciously. “The water is unpredictable, only seeking to serve itself. It is no place for mankind to be by.”

“Water gives life.”

“Water will take it away, just as quickly.”

Murphy watches the last rays of sun disappear. Somewhere, Abigail is turning her attention to the other side of the world. Maybe he should be, too, but it doesn’t seem as important.

“You could say the same of fire,” he finally says, tearing his eyes away to meet Bellamy’s.

Bellamy meets his gaze, accepting the challenge. “Exactly.”

 

**_now._ **

_The worst part about this whole ordeal is the air._

_Never mind that he’s stranded on a mountain-top, only rocks beneath his feet – but the air up here, it’s the driest, warmest air he’s ever felt. There’s no water around him, none to give him strength, to remind him that he’s not alone._

_There’s no one else to pray to, either._

**then.**

Time passes so quickly, Murphy stops worrying if he’s any good at being a god.

He knows he’s not that great, but none of the others are making great strides, either. Wars constantly erupt despite Luna’s best efforts. Though Lexa feeds off this angry energy, she finds the mortals’ fighting methods dishonourable and cowardly.

The world keeps spinning, though, and that’s all that matters to any of them, really.

Murphy’s fairly quiet, choosing to spend time in the background of all the council, learning who likes who and who doesn’t. It’s fairly easy to learn the dynamics.

Clarke, Abigail’s pride and joy, has been involved with Lexa since the beginning. Murphy’s just minding his own business when he stumbles across them, locked in embrace.

“Do _not_ breathe a word of this,” Lexa warns, standing quickly and moving towards him threateningly. “Or else I–”

“My mother would never approve,” Clarke cuts in, standing as well. “We can’t risk that. You understand, surely?”

“Of course,” he says. “I have no place standing in your way, either.”

“That’s right,” Lexa says, struggling to appear confident, but the relief behind her eyes is too noticeable.

Raven, goddess of wisdom, befriends him quickly. “I like you,” she says to him, once.

“Not as much as you like Luna, I hope.”

The shock in her features is amusing, but it quickly grows into respect. “I don’t know how you figured that out,” she says, “but I’m impressed. Not even Mother knows.”

“Is she really your mother,” he asks, “if you were borne from a wish? An idea?”

Raven laughs, and they walk together through the sky for a while. “Isn’t she all of our Mothers, in a way?”

Murphy thinks of Bellamy, whose mother never had a chance; he thinks of his own, most definitely in the afterlife by now;

“In a way,” he agrees, but it carries no meaning.

 

**_now._ **

_He’d rather be dead than owe Abigail anything._

_What a selfish woman. He knows this now, has trouble remembering a time when he thought her to be noble. All the stories the mortals told painted her in a golden canvas. She was shown to be a guiding hand, mother to all, a light in the darkness that all could follow._

_He’s only ever known her to be consistent, both in leading and in lying._

_The last thing she ever said to him was, “You owe me for this.”_

_Looking back, he should have spat in her face._

**then.**

“What is the true story behind your hand?” Murphy asks Emori, sometime between spring and winter.

On the ground, the mortals believed her hand to signify death; she spent so much time so close to it, it distorted part of her, stole some of her great beauty. He knows there must be more to it.

“I challenged Abigail,” Emori says, simply, holding up her mutated, distorted hand normally tucked underneath a glove. “She made an example of me.”

“And you live with it?”

“What choice do I have?”

 

**_now._ **

_What choice did any of them really, truly have?_

**then.**

“Do you want to be here, Murphy?” Bellamy asks him, somewhere in the middle of a long year.

Murphy laughs, staring at the sky all around them. They’re doing what all the gods do, he supposes, and walking along the clouds, choosing the ignore the desperate pleas below.

“Well? Do you?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why else would I be?”

Bellamy shakes his head, as he’s prone to do when he believes he knows so much more. “Are you sure you’re not here out of pure obligation?”

They stop, feet suspended in a dusty white cloud. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“What reason would a mortal have to say no to a goddess, when asked to ascend?”

Murphy doesn’t reply for some time. He already knows himself to be nothing more than a pawn, a placeholder for Abigail. He knows that she chose him to be here, so the mortals would direct some cries away from her, towards him. He’s here on the results of a selfish choice. “Do you not wish me to be here?” he finally says.

“I did not say that, did I?”

 

**_now._ **

_He said enough. He always said enough._

_Why did nobody understand that?_

**then.**

“Monty.”

The god of love turns around gracefully, because he doesn’t have a choice – everything he does it graceful. “Murphy!” he says, clearly surprised, but not unhappy about it, either. Then again, he’s not _allowed_ to be unhappy.

(he finds the same provisions surround almost all of them; the water is meant to be clear, calm, and tranquil. if his previously wild temper takes control, it makes Abigail angry)

“What can I do for you?” Monty asks, smiling.

Murphy shuffles his feet a little before asking, “How do you know you’re in love?”

At this, Monty positively beams, placing a hand on Murphy’s shoulder. “If you’re asking me,” he says, “then you already know the answer.”

 

**_now._ **

_Some help that was._

_Maybe he wanted a denial, or advice on how to walk the other way, to escape, to stay away from all gods for the end of time. He was sick and tired of them and if he never saw another god it would be too soon –_

_that’s not quite true._

_Maybe Abigail was on to something with her lies._

**then.**

He figures that it won’t be a problem.

Clarke had Lexa, though it remained a secret. He caught them glancing at each other, sneaking in winks and flirtatious glances. They reminded him of mortal young couples, caught in the jaws of lust.

Happiest together were Raven and Luna, without question. They had the privilege of being open about their romance, of course, which added a layer of sophistication, it seemed. Of course, Murphy knew all about what happened behind closed doors; he and Raven spent _too_ much time talking about all the ways to woo Luna.

“You seem happier, these days,” Raven says to him during one of their talks. “Who is it?”

His voice says nothing, but his eyes catch Bellamy’s silhouette miles away, and Raven smiles.

He figures that it won’t be a problem, because everyone else found a way through it just fine and – well, he never could have predicted _that._

 

**_now._ **

_There were so many warning signs._

_Each time he thinks of what he should have done, what he should have seen, Raven’s voice seems to echo in his ear. “You used to be so perceptive,” she’ll say, “and you missed that. How could you?”_

_Her voice sends more weight onto his shoulders, and he’ll scream as his knees touch the ground._

_The weight stays up, though. He’s not selfish enough to let it fall, not yet._

**then.**

“Don’t tell me that,” Bellamy says. “Don’t – please, Murphy.”

Murphy’s heart feels heavy. The water seems to drain out of him, leaving him dry. “It’s alright if you don’t feel similarly. I couldn’t expect anything from you.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

Bellamy rakes his fingers through his messy, raven hair, so dark that it blocked the sunlight. “There’s so much that you don’t know right now.”

“Tell me.”

An eternity passes, and –

“All you need to know is fire and water were never meant to mix.”

That night, a tsunami takes out a quarter of the western coastline, much to Abigail’s disproval.

 

**_now._ **

_There were no rules. Nobody told him how to do this. Nobody told him how to be a good ruler, nobody said –_

_He’s a captain of a ship. He_ was _captain of a ship, and he wonders if he went down with it._

_Still, he screams._

**then.**

“Fire and water could mix, if you let them.”

“Maybe it’s not up to me.”

“Then who is it up to?”

For once, Murphy is the one to silence Bellamy. The moment is ended by the meeting of their lips and minds.

That summer, California’s drought ends.

 

**_now._ **

_Sometimes, when he’s desperate, he tries to feel the water._

_His mind is so empty, these days, so quiet with only his own thoughts to fill it. He tries his hardest to reach out, to feel the waves caress his fingers in the beautiful way that they used to, but it never works._

_He’s so, so alone._

**then.**

The next person to walk in on Clarke and Lexa is not Murphy, and they are not so nonchalant about it.

And so here they are, Lexa kneeling in front of Abigail, her hands bound in otherworldly chains. Her head is bowed, forbidden from the privilege of viewing any of the gods. Clarke has been locked away in a separate room, unable to see Lexa again.

It could be said that Abigail was not happy with her _“best”_ daughter being _“distracted.”_

“Love is never a distraction,” Monty was saying, doing his best to sway Abigail’s opinion. “Love strengthens us. It gives us hope our darkest hours. Yes, it may end in heartbreak, but do we not grow stronger from pain?”

He pauses, waiting for her to register his words, before finishing with, “All great leaders must learn to grow from pain.”

Abigail’s eyes light up. “So you agree! This… _affair_ will only end in pain.”

“That’s – no, I…well, it _might_ , but it should have the chance to play out!” Monty says before he remembers his place and backs away. After all, she’s his mother too.

“I’ve made my decision,” Abigail calls, standing. “My daughter Clarke, though wise beyond her years, is young and temperamental. Her mood changes as the seasons do. However…I believe Lexa has based this affair on lust alone. After all, war does not hold back.”

Murphy’s far away from Lexa, but he can see her fear.

“Both are allowed to remain council members,” Abigail says, “but an example must be made.”

When she reaches down and strips the blindfold off of Lexa’s eyes, the irises have turned grey. For a moment, she stays kneeling, but then –

“ _I can’t see!_ ”

“No,” Abigail says. “I suspect not much has changed for you, hmm?”

 

**_now._ **

_It’s sad, to know that all love came to an end that day._

**then.**

“Young Murphy,” Abigail says to him as they walk side by side through the clouds. She’s careful to stay as close to her domain as possible. It’s a show of power or fear, and he’s not sure which one yet.

“Yes?”

“You know why I do what I do, don’t you?”

He makes sure to focus his gaze straight ahead, unblinking. “What do you mean?”

“My decisions. They may seem harsh, but do you understand them?”

“You’re referring to punishing Emori and Lexa. Changing her hand, taking her sight.”

“Yes.”

“I…understand to as much extent that I can, I believe.”

“Would you do the same?”

He’s got to be careful here. If the wrong words are spoken, Abigail could very easily steal his voice – or more. “I do not think I would make a good leader,” he finally decides on. “I would ask others, I think.”

She nods, and he risks a glance. It’s surprising – she does not appear to be all-powerful. She does not _look_ as the creator of the universe should look.

There’s something hidden behind her eyes, her posture – but it’s so unnatural, so out of place to him that he can’t tell what it is –

“You are right,” she says, and he looks away. “A leader is nothing if they do not have anyone they can trust.”

It is only after she leaves that Murphy knows he was seeing her vulnerability.

 

**_now._ **

_He shouldn’t have been sympathetic._

_He thinks of all the pressure Abigail must be under, all the wrong decisions she’s made, how she must sit on her throne, staring at an empty room, knowing that she must be a harsh ruler to look out for everyone –_

_He thinks of the sad look in Emori’s eyes every time she goes to use her hand and remembers she can’t, how Raven and Luna used to stare longingly at each other across the throne room, knowing they would share the same fate as Lexa should they be discovered, how he and Bellamy could never have what they were meant to have –_

_As if they could have had anything at all._

 

**then.**

The meeting begins regularly. Abigail drones on and on about her expectations, the state of the world, the current crises, and what course of action she thinks they should take.

She’s so distracted that she doesn’t see Emori pass her staff off to Kane, who stabs Abigail with it only moments later.

Her eyes widen as she staggers in shock. The throne room erupts in a cacophony of sound, half of the room in on the plan, and half as wronged as Murphy.

In the chaos, he seeks out Bellamy, who does not look surprised at all.

“You don’t control us any longer,” Kane says, grabbing the protruding end of the spear and yanking it back, letting Emori grab it again. “You will rule by fear no longer.”

He moves to Abigail, who’s still struggling to regain balance, but his path is blocked by Clarke. “Get away from my mother,” she says, quietly, well aware that she’s challenging her father. The pain evident on her features says so much more than that, though – she’s conflicted more than she’s upset. Conflicted, of course, on whether to support the woman who broke her heart.

“Clarke, this doesn’t concern you.”

She doesn’t get to another sentence, because Raven’s pulling her away, holding her down. _You were in on it, too?_ Murphy thinks, Raven’s unapologetic stare anything but comforting.

Lexa’s shouting for Clarke, angry and afraid that she can’t see what’s happening. Luna’s attempting to assist Raven while yelling something about democracy. Monty backs away, running from the throne room, while Harper and Jasper stand at odds, each supporting a different side.

Murphy can only stare at Bellamy, who – wait –

Kane’s been distracted by Jasper, and now Abigail’s recovered enough to hold sunlight in her eyes and fists. She turns her attention to Bellamy – _no_ – he can’t stand here and watch, no matter how much he wants to follow Monty –

Abigail is moving to kill.

With a yell, Murphy throws the force of an ocean at her, dousing the light in her fists but not in her eyes.

“I _chose_ you to be here!” she cries, and with a scream, the entire room becomes white with a blinding light.

And then –

nothing.

 

**_now._ **

_There are some mistakes he regrets, some that he doesn’t._

_He doesn’t regret the one he probably_ should _regret, but that’s on him. Or is it? Is that a sign of something far more wrong with him?_

_He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, he just – he –_

_he doesn’t know._

**then.**

Abigail kills Kane in cold blood for orchestrating the rebellion. Emori is banished to the underworld, never to see the heavens again. Harper is sent to a desolate forest on the ground, never to escape. Raven is blinked out of corporeal existence, her mind kept somewhere only Abigail can communicate with her. Luna’s godly powers are stripped away and she is sent to live forever in the afterlife.

Bellamy, though –

“I always hated you,” Abigail says, burning through him with her gaze. “For that – you will forever be tortured.”

The sky begins to fall after Kane’s death. Bellamy is tasked to hold it up for all eternity. Only those who wish to hold the weight can take it off his shoulders.

Murphy is given a write-off, it seems. “You’re young,” Abigail says. “ _Don’t_ let this happen again. But remember - you owe me for this.”

None of it makes sense –

but –

he will not end it here.

No, as soon as he is able he travels to the highest mountain on Earth, to the point where the sky begins to meet the ground. It is there he finds Bellamy, raven hair matted against his forehead, eyes closed, figure trembling with the weight.

“Bellamy,” Murphy says, softly, getting on his knees next to him, gently taking more and more of the weight.

It’s so heavy he’s nearly crippled, but with Bellamy here he stands strong.

“Don’t do this,” Bellamy manages to say, but it’s too late. Murphy’s got the weight on his shoulders and Bellamy falls away, panting, staring up the sky that he was tasked to hold.

“We’ll go back and forth,” Murphy says, speaking now before he’s unable. “Okay? Every few years or so.”

“I can’t – no – I can’t go back to Abigail.”

“Then don’t. Run.”

“Run where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

It’s getting harder to speak, all the breath in his body busy holding up the weight. He doesn’t know how Kane held the sky up with only his mind all this time.

“I can’t leave you alone like this. Not alone. I won’t.”

“Bellamy.”

“ _No_.”

“ _Bell._ ”

Bellamy doesn’t reply with his voice but he gives a look so full of despair that Murphy almost falls to the ground and drops the weight right then and there.

“Don’t,” Murphy gasps, shutting his eyes so he can remember Bellamy in any way that isn’t _this_. “Please – just – go.”

“I’ll be back.”

When Murphy opens his eyes next, he is alone.

 

**_now._ **

_The one positive of this is that he understands what it means to be alone._

_He’s always been alone. Maybe he had a crew full of men that followed his every command when he was mortal, but there were none to truly converse with, to share his life and passion with. And sure, maybe some of the gods talked to him. Emori, Raven, Luna…all beings he felt accepted by. But they were different than him._

_Now Emori is forever imprisoned, Raven had her identity stolen, Luna lost everything, and Murphy should have killed Abigail when he had the chance._

**then, now, and forever –**

It’s been more millennia than he can count. He can only pass off this burden to those who are willing. Bellamy is never coming back.

Mortals will carve statues in his honour and sing songs in his name, honouring the being holding up the sky for them, giving them breath with every bit of life he loses.

And so it is this;

Murphy forever holds the weight of this world on his shoulders, only two thoughts haunting his unending existence.

He will either see what an ugly shade of blue the sky is, or the misery on Bellamy’s face, and his true torture will not come from the weight, but from deciding which image he despises more.

**Author's Note:**

> aaand as always thanks for the read. hope it made sense, despite the lack of a linear flow. i'm always worried these don't make sense but after all what is time when you're immortal?
> 
> thanks for the read, friend. have a great day <3


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